


Human Nature

by darksquall



Category: The Avengers (2012), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: AU, Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe, Cold, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Just emotional okay?, M/M, Multi, Not sex yet, Rain, Threesome - F/M/M, but maybe, if they cooperate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-12-13 00:17:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/817727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darksquall/pseuds/darksquall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dr Bruce Banner is on the run after his "accident". It's not common knowledge that the monster that leaves disaster in it's wake is one mild mannered (you'd better hope he's mild mannered) scientist, but Bruce is still a wanted man, and still trying to dodge the law, the army and god knows who else might be out for what they can get from him, alive or not. All he knows is, he has to keep running.</p>
<p>So he's standing at a bus stop and a beautiful woman walks up behind him.</p>
<p>(Ratings and Warnings may change as the fic progresses. Likely to have multishipping and violence eventually, and more than likely, sexytimes.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. So he's standing at a bus stop and a beautiful woman walks up behind him...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lanapanda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanapanda/gifts).



> With many thanks to Lanapanda for betaing for me, as always.

He'd grown to relish the cold. Welcome it, long for it, even. As long as it was cold, he was safe. As long as he felt cold, the monster raging behind his eyes would quiet; begin to grow more still and more docile. That was a _very_ good thing.

Heat was bad. He'd long since stopped missing it, because warmth was dangerous. Heat was the warning, the coming of the transformation, and it was also the pain of its aftermath. Heat always accompanied that rush of adrenaline and the darkening of his vision to violent green and blinding blackness, as the monster dragged him into the dark depths of hell and stepped into his place in the light.

Bruce honestly couldn't remember the last time he'd been warm that wasn't accompanied by the vicious ache of his muscles and skin returning to their prescribed form. Nor could he remember the last time he'd had a good night's sleep. Too many nightmares to let him rest, and too many people after his blood, his body and his mind to risk closing his eyes for too long. A snatched hour here or there, just enough to keep him from losing his mind completely and letting the beast take over. Just enough rest to keep him from losing himself forever.

He stood in the rain at the bus stop and waited. His life seemed to be entirely made up of waiting, running or hiding now.

It had been raining all day, one of those grey days where the sun could barely make a showing. Usually he'd have been hiding somewhere dry and cool and listening to the patter of raindrops against a tin roof or a cracked window because while he liked the cold, being cold and wet would not be advantageous in his current escape. He wasn't sure if he could get sick any more - he certainly hadn't noticed any illness in the days since he'd become a monster waiting to happen instead of a human being, but that was not something to be relied upon and so he tried not to take that chance. However the small town he'd found himself in was so far off the beaten track that it barely had a bus route to speak of, only one bus a day managing to find the grace to stop on it's mostly empty streets before travelling on to the next town, and Bruce knew that if he didn't make this one, he'd have to avoid the local law enforcement all over again. One night of dodging questions and out and out lying to people who looked just a little too closely and studied him a little too intently was enough. He wanted out and he wanted it sooner rather than later.

So he'd waited at the stop for nearly an hour, leaning against the pole and watching the rain fall in echoing circles onto the already wet street, and the lights of the stores and the passing cars reflected in wavering surfaces. He had a waterproof coat, at least, enough to pull the hood down over his face and hide from anyone who lingered too near or too long, and enough to keep most of him dry. He liked the way the raindrops sounded against the polyester, a little pitter-patter of distraction from the occasional hiss and rumble of car tires on tarmac and surface water, and the burble of engines. No one stopped to talk to him when they passed, just falling to hushed tones and moving by as quickly as they could manage.

That was the way Bruce liked it. Don't remember me. Don't look at me. Just keep moving.

The soft clicking of heels on the concrete slabs of the sidewalk caught his attention. He hadn't heard many heels passing by, not the kind of heel that those shoes had anyway. Then, through the heavy scent of the rain, Bruce caught just the faintest scent of perfume. Something exotic, beautiful, and entirely out of place for a small town. Something expensive, too, the faintest hint of vanilla sweetness under something much darker and heavier.

He wouldn't look. He didn't need to. Even though he was curious, he kept his gaze locked on the street and waited patiently for the bus to arrive.

It took him a few seconds to realise that the sound of the heels had stopped. Not faded into the distance, not turned and walked into one of the buildings behind him with their garish displays of supposedly tempting wares, but they had stopped behind him. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to turn and look behind himself to see what or who was in those heels and that beautiful perfume.

He counted the seconds as they ticked by, turning into minutes. No movement. No hint that the person in the heels that were out of place in the small town moving on or turning away. She had to be looking at him - what had given him away? He'd kept his head down, grown a beard, ditched his battered pair of glasses while he was on the road... he'd tried to be anyone else, just wanting to be safe and stay out of the hands of the people who wanted to hurt him. The people who made him hurt innocent people.

At the back of his mind, the monster stirred. Bruce could hear his heart pounding in his ears and his mouth felt dry as a bone. He had to see who it was.

Slowly he straightened and turned his head to look at whoever the one in the out of place heels was. No sudden movements. No threat. Maybe there's a way to talk yourself out of this, to keep everything calm.

Bruce wasn't sure what he was expecting. Not a beautiful girl with perfectly beautiful pouting lips - he noticed those first, painted darker, a shade of nearly red that accentuated their fullness. Then he took a moment to study her face overall, a classically beautiful bone structure that would have looked entirely at home on a movie screen in the twenties. Her eyes, vibrantly green in an otherwise grey day, were hesitant. She knew who he was. One delicate hand lifted to sweep her all too red curls behind her ear and her tongue darted out to moisten her lips as she waited to speak. She was nervous. Now he could see her he could almost smell her fear.

She cut an imposing and out of place figure. The heels - stiletto, he noted - he'd heard he'd been right about. He had no idea of brand name or design house when it came to men's clothing, let alone women's, but he suspected they were expensive as soon as he set eyes on them. She was wearing a little black dress that wouldn't have looked out of place at a Hollywood party, a matching coat and holding an umbrella that rested on her shoulder. Not a drop of water had dared to encroach upon her beneath that umbrella.

In short, it was a very good show. Tight little dress and heels to make her look feminine. No place for weapons, and hell, maybe no way to run from him easily in those shoes, But the coat, the coat could have hidden anything and now he was looking at her intently, he was beginning to wonder just what she was hiding.

"Dr Banner," she began softly, holding her free hand up in a 'wait, hear me out gesture'. "I'm not here to threaten you, but... I'd like to talk, if that's okay."

There was a faint cast to her words. Not American. Something eastern European, perhaps, just the very slightest hesitance to some of her words that if he'd been lost in thought, or had any other distraction he might have missed. He wasn't sure he wanted to talk or listen though, and his heartbeat had already kicked up a notch. The edges of his vision were beginning to grow fuzzy. Fear response. Adrenaline. Worry. Fear spiralling. The monster was most definitely awake now and he could hear its growl in the back of his head so clearly that he was almost surprised when the stranger with the blood red hair and green eyes on a grey day didn't hear it too. "Don't suppose you'd believe I wasn't that person and move on before something we both regret happens, right?"

"I'm afraid not, Doctor," she shook her head, just a little. The hair she'd so carefully tucked behind her ear fell free again, and a lock fell in front of her eyes. Everything was rehearsed, perfectly manipulative and by god she knew what she was doing. It made him want to sweep that lock behind her ear again. The innocent girl. A beauty for the beast. Something to keep him calm and at ease when he should have been anything but calm. What did they think the monster was, King Kong? That hand that had beheld him to wait gestured at the bus stop. She had beautiful hands too, long, delicate fingers and perfectly manicured nails. A gold ring on her middle finger with a few stones set into sweep and curl of the precious metal. No wedding ring, or engagement ring. Of course, she had to look available for this kind of work. "The bus is late, isn't it?"

"They told me it's often late," Bruce replied, keeping his voice measured. If he could just keep calm, keep from reacting too violently, perhaps he could control this after all. He shrugged a little, looking off into the distance. The road stretched on forever, or so it seemed, made worse by the shimmer of the surface water as it reflected the grey clouds. It made it seem like the world ended at the boundaries of the town. "I just have to be a little patient, that's all."

"General Ross has had it diverted."

For just a moment, his vision swept to green and back again. Dizzy, he grabbed for the sign of the bus stop, gasping, gulping for air and holding onto the pole for dear life. The girl with the red hair took half a step back, as though that much more distance was going to make a difference. As though that much more distance would save her when the monster was around. "Are you working for him?" he growled in a voice that wasn't entirely his own anymore. "Is that why you're here?"

"I don't work for him, Doctor, I swear to you," her voice was calmer than he'd expected to hear. He'd been sure she'd want to run as soon as she'd heard that - anyone who was in their right mind would not want to be near him if they knew who and what he was. "My name is Natasha Romanov. I work for Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division, and I hate people like General Ross just as much as you do."

Bruce focused on breathing. He rested his forehead against the metal pole; it felt so cool against his skin. He'd barely noticed the heat well up inside him again, until he felt the blissful touch of that cold metal against his skin again. "SHIELD?" he choked back a laugh. "That's... kinda pathetic. Do you have a branch called SWORD too? Is HALBERD too much to wish for?"

He peered up at her from beneath the edge of his hood, catching the smile that curled her lips all too briefly. "You know how the Government are for acronyms," she gave a little shrug. "You don't have to come with me, Doctor; you don't even have to listen to me. I will leave right now if you tell me to. But... I have a vehicle. I can get you out of Ross' way."

"Are you armed?" Bruce asked, trying to keep a lid on the monster, to keep him down for the town's sake more than his own or the stranger with the red hair. No... not a stranger anymore. Romanov. She'd said her name was Romanov. Which he was half sure was actually a lie, Russian surnames didn't work like that did they? She should have had a different ending to the name. Romanova, maybe…, he couldn’t remember now. Some days he felt his mind was slipping away from him along with his control. He should have been asking more questions, probably much more important ones as well, but if she was armed, she was a threat.

She didn't answer verbally at first. She slipped out of her jacket, switching the umbrella from one hand to the other, then holding it between her shoulder and her neck as she tipped her head and ran through the pockets. No weapons. Then, holding the jacket up, she turned in front of him. Nothing on her body either. Or so he thought, until she just hitched up the hem of her skirt the tiniest bit, showing a perfectly sculpted thigh with a knife sheath strapped to the outside of her leg. "Just this. I thought it best not to risk anything else if I wanted to talk, Doctor."

She had a wisdom beyond her years. Eyes that had seen entirely too much of the world he had been thrust into. Maybe even eyes that were as tired as he felt, but no less stunningly beautiful. Bruce wanted to believe her, really he did, but it all seemed entirely too good to be true. No one was supposed to help him - he was a monster, he was better off dead. The world would be better off if he could just die.

Worst of all, his father had been _right_.

"I hate to push you, Doctor, but we probably have ten, maybe fifteen minutes to get out of here before Ross has the town surrounded and I'd prefer not to be here when he arrives," she prompted, slipping the jacket back on. "I'll even let you drive, if that would help."

If she was scared of him now, she had it well hidden. He looked longingly at the open street and the long grey road disappearing into the even greyer day. If only he'd managed to catch the bus the day before, this wouldn't have happened. He'd have been safe, nowhere near anyone from the entertainingly poorly named defence agency he'd never heard of before. That fact - that he'd never heard of them, was less worrying. He'd heard all sorts of acronyms and branch names that he was half sure had been thought up by a twisted mind in order to get to him and the mistakes he'd made since he'd been on the run. Somehow SHIELD was one of the more sensible and realistic. "Let's go," he replied dejectedly, hoping he wasn't just playing into someone's hands. "I'll decide whether I want to drive when you show me the car."

She gave a brief nod, bright curls swaying like fire as she turned on her heel and walked the length of Main Street. There was a bar there, and a few cars parked in front of it - one looked conspicuously out of place. A black Mercedes with drastically darkened windows. If he’d been a conspiracy nut, he was sure he’d have pointed it out as a perfect example of government agent in town. That or mafia boss. He didn't notice whether it had government plates, more focused on the interior as soon as she unlocked it.

He checked everything he could think of, the lining of the roof, the seats, the steering wheel, even the belts. Everything seemed so damn normal he found it almost more suspicious than if he'd found some cliché little spy trick from the movies like an ejector seat.

"If you're looking for the guns," Natasha commented dryly, "they're in the trunk."

"I was looking for the button that let the oil slick out," Bruce retorted.

"Ahh, a James Bond fan. You'd get on well with my partner," Natasha pulled the car keys from a pocket and held them out to Bruce. "So. Do you want to drive?"

Driving would have been better for him to retain control of the situation he’d found himself in, but if... if something went wrong and he hulked out, or if there was some trick and he had to leap from the moving car, he'd be putting her in danger if he had been driving. He probably shouldn't have cared - she was an agent, and she knew what she was letting herself in for on a job like this, but still. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right for him to hurt someone else just because. He'd hurt enough people in his escape and his continued journey without adding another few lives to his conscience and his nightmares. He waved her hand away and shook his head. "You drive."

"Sure?" Natasha arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, surprised. She'd been expecting him to want to drive, to want that control, perhaps.

"If Ross is surrounding the town, he might be watching the roads already. You're already going to stick out like a sore thumb - and you have ID to get you through checks like this, right?" Bruce tried to be objective, he tried to think positively but he had to be honest with himself. Life was not that fair and hadn't been kind to him in months, he should have been shying away from this offer of salvation and safety... but he just couldn't bring himself to turn away again.

He was tired, and he wanted to hope that perhaps the world still had a place for him, even if it was in the passenger seat of a government owned car with a secret agent.

Just when had his life become the plot of a bad movie, anyway?

Bruce settled into the passenger seat nervously, holding his backpack on his lap. Every time he'd managed to gather a few supplies, a few things to make it easier to run, he'd hulk out and lose them again. It was tiring just trying to exist in his situation.

Natasha slipped around the car, folding the umbrella up and setting it in the back seat before she slipped into the driver's seat, and turned the key in the ignition. The engine purred into life and she checked the mirrors before pulling away.

Her perfume was so much more intense in the enclosed space. Not irritatingly so, but still he couldn't help watching her more than he did the passing grey tinged scenery. Ever since his other personality, he'd had a much improved sense of smell. He could pick up notes in perfume he'd not noticed before, he'd been able to smell gunpowder and fear sweat, and a whole host of other things that had helped him. Were still helping him, he knew she'd had a gun in the car, that she'd fired it in the last few days... He knew she was still afraid of him, but that it had eased enough to allow him to be in an enclosed space with her.

Still. That particular gift made him feel more like an animal than anything else.

She cast a glance over at him, her teeth worrying at her lower lip just for a moment as she toyed with speaking. "What's wrong, Doctor?"

"Nothing. Just... your perfume," Bruce shrugged helplessly. He almost wanted to hold her in his arms, nose against her pale, perfect skin and breathe that perfume in. He wondered if that was deliberate as well. Not to enthral him particularly - after all, no one really knew about that particular side effect of his transformation - but to enthral men in general. "It's...," he gestured absently as he grasped for a word, frowning. Damn it, he was more tired than he'd estimated. Enchanting was too much. Beautiful wasn't the word he meant, not quite. He settled for a term more comfortable in his world than he supposed was appropriate. "Magnetic."

One corner of her mouth quirked up in a half smile. "Well I haven't heard that one before. Thank you," she settled a little more comfortably, perhaps a little more at ease than she had been before that little admission, that little connection between them. "I'm hoping that there won’t be any checkpoints - Ross is more than a little paranoid about anyone from the other military branches or agencies getting involved in his little witch hunt and it would be better if we weren't seen."

"Still not sure if he'd prefer me dead or captured," Bruce sighed and closed his eyes. He tugged his hood down to run his fingers through his hair, which made him miss his glasses all the more. It was a nervous tick to play with them, and his hands felt bereft without them at least there to hold when he was feeling nervous. He tried resting them on his knees, at least able squeeze his fingers in the rain dampened cloth where it lay plastered against his skin to give him some focus. "Maybe captured. Then he could try and kill me."

Natasha reached over to rest a hand over one of his. Her warmth seemed to seep into his skin and remind him of just how cold he was, just how alone and lonely he was. "Try not to think about it for the next few hours, Bruce. If nothing else, I'll get you someplace safe, okay?"

He desperately wanted to believe her. To believe that anyone wanted to help him and was looking out for him was more tempting than he had words for. When it was all said and done, he would still be a monster in a pair of thrift store jeans, shivering in the cold. "Okay," he forced a smile, turning his attention to the road ahead.

Just in time for a motorbike to pass them.

The roar of the engine started behind them, a whine, a buzz, and it grew louder as Natasha moved out to let the rider pass. A powerful engine from the roar, one being pushed to its limits as it flew past them with no signs of stopping. Bruce's heart seemed to thunder in his ears, growing just as loud as the motorcycle's engine as it disappeared into the distance. For a moment again, his vision flashed to green, a warning of things to come, Natasha's hand squeezed his own. "It's okay," she soothed softly. "That one was on our side."

Bruce took a moment to breathe in and out deeply and slowly, calming down. He needed sleep. Every little thing was beginning to set him off. "Your partner?"

"Mm," She nodded, moving her hand to the center console of the car's dashboard and opening one of the storage compartments. She pulled out a pair of small earpieces, slipping the first one in for herself and offering Bruce the other when it was settled. "He's our eyes at the moment. Here. No secrets, anything he says, we'll both hear. No lies, I promise."

It could so easily have been a trick, giving him something that would shock him perhaps, knock him out before the Hulk could even turn up and rip his way out of the car. Either way, somehow Bruce found his cold fingers closing clumsily around the earpiece and hooking it over his ear in the manner he'd just watched Natasha do for herself.

With a flash of a real smile, Natasha fussed with one of the buttons on her coat, and spoke, giving a strange echo as it was processed through the earpiece as well.. "The doctor is online, Hawkeye. No flirting."

"You never let me have any fun, Widow. Is that with you, or the Doc?" It was a very male voice. Deep, the reverberation of the motorbike masking most characteristics but he didn't pick up anything that would imply that this one wasn't American.

"So professional," she almost chuckled and shook her head.

"Widow?" Bruce echoed, confused.

"Black Widow," Natasha glanced over at him again. Any passion, any enthusiasm she'd had moments before was drained away as she spoke. She was distancing herself from her words as much as she could, and from the look in her eyes, Bruce thought it might have been killing her to do so. "It's my call sign, a name I operated under before I worked for SHIELD that stuck. At least they know who they're talking to when they contact me."

"So you're naming me the Doctor? If they're scanning, that's going to be pretty obvious. Unless they think I'm a doctor who fan."

"Ah, science fiction," Hawkeye offered cheerfully. "We can work with that."

Call signs, code names. He wasn't just living in a bad movie; he was living in a bad spy movie. The name Black Widow was almost familiar, though. He was sure he'd heard it somewhere before, maybe even the same with Hawkeye. He couldn't be sure though, and they were a little obvious and cliché, so it might have been anything that had set off that particular synaptic response. Everything was fading into a grey fog, as insubstantial as they day outside the windows. Bruce covered his eyes with one hand and breathed in deeply. He was tired. So very tired. He was having trouble keeping his eyes open anymore, just from the meagre warmth of the car and being in a comfortable seat.

"Just hold on a little longer, Doctor. We'll get you somewhere safe," Natasha's repeated words were soothing and gentle, which didn't help him resist the pull of sleep in the slightest. “If you want to rest when we get there, we can keep a look out for you while you sleep."

That might have been the kindest offer he'd had in months. Maybe since this whole thing had started. He knew that he'd never get a good night's sleep as long as the nightmares were still so active and violent, but finally getting more than just a snatched hour here and there sounded like heaven. He'd never be able to manage that much on his own while he was still in the country.

Everything seemed to be going right for once. For the first time since the whole thing had begun, things were finally starting to look up.

As though fate or the universe had heard his momentary lapse from the depths of despair to chase a glimmer of hope, the radio crackled into life again. "Widow. Roadblock. Ten miles out."

Natasha cursed softly beside him in at least two languages. "Can you get us an image?"

"Sure, sending it to your screen."

She reached over to turn the sat nav system on, the screen lighting up with a logo that Bruce didn't recognise in the slightest, then flickering over to an all too familiar image. A military roadblock, vehicles pulled across the road to prevent anyone from getting in or out of the town. Perhaps a little far out, but if they'd wanted to drive the Hulk to destruction to further destroy the town, then there was no truly safe distance if he was pissed off enough to chase you.

Every inch of Bruce screamed that it was a trick, a lie again, that he was being creatively diverted and captured, driven into a corner. He was going to be a caged animal but those vehicles, those people waiting for him just made his heart sink into his boots all over again.

"How do I know you're not just lying to me?" he asked, looking up at Natasha with tired eyes. He needed his glasses for detail work, and the more tired he got, the worse his vision was. He rubbed his eyes again to try and right them but to no avail. Did he even care anymore? Maybe if he gave himself up, he'd at least be put out of his misery once and for all.

"You don't, Doctor," the male voice on the radio admitted honestly. "But you're not looking at a lot of other choices for the moment, so d'you think you could just ride it out a little longer?"

"We're not exactly on official business here," Natasha shrugged. "Semi-official maybe. Enough to get us out if we need it, but not enough to take you with us if we get caught."

"Nat," the male voice said sharply. His tone was warning, but to be honest, Bruce was just even more confused.

"If he's going to trust us, then he deserves the whole story, Hawkeye."

Bruce found himself staring at Natasha, and not for the first time. He didn't know what to do. Where to go next, what to say. Leaping out of the car didn't seem like a good idea, getting angry would take more energy than he really had and probably kill Natasha in the process.

"Not over the comms," Hawkeye sighed. "Right hand turn - six hundred yards. Dirt road, looks like it leads to some abandoned farm, probably some buildings left standing. Raining hard enough that it'll cover our tracks pretty well."

"Well, hopefully they'll at least be dry," Natasha commented. She turned the communication device off with a soft click, slammed the brakes on and hauled the steering wheel to the right to almost _throw_ the car onto the dirt road as they reached it. Bruce pushed himself as far back into the seat as he could, trying to take the jolts and judders of the car on the uneven surface without being thrown around too much. The suspension would never be the same, and Bruce wasn't entirely sure his back would be either, but he had no choice anymore. He was letting two agents he knew barely anything about escort him into a trap. A dead end.

Hopefully that would just remain a figure of speech. For everyone involved.


	2. If you think it's going to rain, it will. (Clint Eastwood)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha and an exhausted Bruce hide out in the middle of nowhere, Clint joins them and there is talking. Lots of talking.

They were lucky.

The farm buildings were still standing and still pretty dry overall. A window in one bedroom had been broken somehow and the room smelled of damp and mold, both acrid to Bruce's enhanced senses and he avoided even entering the room. A few mattresses and old furniture had been left behind in the former occupant’s rush to leave the place some time before, and Bruce gave Natasha a hand in dragging some of it into the fair sized living room downstairs, because it was the only room with a fireplace.

Still, despite being mostly dry, the place was very cold.

Natasha had stashed the car between the house and the barn so if anyone happened to come along to check from the road, it would be hidden. The rain was still coming down heavily and Bruce could hear it on the windows, a soothing, even drumming. It never stopped, just a very grey, very cold day. The dark skies matched his mood.

As soon as Natasha had the room protected from the elements - covering cracks in the windows and blocking doors that allowed in drafts - and a little more comfortable than when she'd started, she fetched a couple of kit bags from her car. She moved almost silently, the only thing to give her away was the soft click of her heels on the dusty wooden floorboards. Bruce had offered to help as she'd set up the room to her liking but she'd told him to sit and rest, and try to get some sleep if he could. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to do that, but he'd settled on the mattress and leaned back against the wall, just breathing, and listening, trying not to be too aware of how much danger he was in.

He wondered sleepily if Natasha could walk silently in her heels. If this entire thing was a show to keep him at ease and calm. He wouldn't be surprised if it were, after all, if she knew who he was and what he could be, she knew the advantages to keeping him calm.

It was the sound of an engine that made him jerk awake, glancing around confused. He must have had his eyes closed for longer than he thought, because when he opened them again, Natasha had unpacked a kit bag and she was no longer wearing the little party dress and the expensive heels. She was wearing black pants, a long sleeved black tee shirt and sneakers. She looked like she was going for a run, or trying out for ninja school or something else entirely ridiculous given their surroundings and the current situation. "It's just Hawkeye," she said as he looked up at her, confused. "It's okay, Bruce, go back to sleep."

Bruce rubbed a hand over his face, and took a better look around the room. She hadn't changed it much from when he'd apparently drifted off, but she had moved a few chairs closer to the fire place, leaving the area beneath the two windows in the wall facing the road free for... well. He wasn't entirely sure but he did notice she'd also laid out several guns beneath them. Rifles, hand guns for the most part. The way they were positioned made it look like she’d set up two nests, one for each of them. The same guns were mirrored at each spot, a rifle each, a couple of handguns each and an array of spare clips and ammunition. "You weren't kidding about the guns."

"I haven't lied to you," Natasha flashed him a brief smile. "Dodged around a few questions here and here, but no out and out _lying_."

"I appreciate that."

He really did. He was glad that if he was going to be trapped in an abandoned farmhouse in the middle of nowhere with his only choice of escape being a couple of government agents or a hike across a lot of open fields which would no doubt now be 75% mud and 25% puddles or worse, at least he was being told the truth where it was possible.

Bruce sighed. "How long was I out?" he asked, dragging his backpack closer and digging out the damaged remnants of his glasses. He slipped them on and surveyed his surroundings a little more coherently now that he'd had at least some rest.

The room was still pretty dark, maybe mid-afternoon, very early evening at a push, but not long before sunset. The gloom was compounded by the lack of light through the day, and made it more difficult for Natasha to pick her way through the room. She was definitely setting up for a standoff if it came to that. Fortunately the front door to the old farmhouse faced away from the road, so there was still an escape route if it were needed.

"Maybe thirty minutes; if you're not going back to sleep I can start a fire and make some coffee?" she suggested, coming over to his little corner on the mattress and crouching beside him. She tipped her head, a little smile playing on her lips. It made her pretty hair tumble down and he wanted to touch it. Just such a vibrant red in a day of washed out, faded greys. "There's a well out back, checked the water and it's clean."

"Stimulants are really not a good idea," Bruce shook his head sheepishly. He'd been avoiding anything that could and would kick his heart rate up even the slightest notch. Well. He’d been avoiding as much of it as he could, given the circumstances. He couldn’t avoid everything. He couldn’t stop running, he couldn’t sleep right, he couldn’t let himself stay in one spot for longer than absolutely necessary – all of those things kept him on edge, a moment away from panic and entirely too close to a transformation than he should have been at any one time.

"Ah, right. I don't have any tea - what about cocoa?"

He almost laughed at the idea. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had cocoa, but then, he was beginning to forget the last time he'd felt warm or the last time he'd had a beautiful woman close enough to touch. "That... would be nice, thank you."

"I guess you don't have much in the way of spare clothes but..." she picked up a blanket from the end of the mattress and offered it to him. That must have come from her car as well, he didn't remember seeing it as he'd helped her haul furniture. "If you take your pants off, I can at least get them dry."

"Are you trying to get me out of my pants, Agent Romanoff?"

"Are you surprised it's taken me this long, doctor?" she quirked an eyebrow and gave him a wicked little smile, before setting the blanket down beside him. "If you're shy, I can look away."

"I won't make such a generous offer," the male voice from the radio drifted in from the only doorway Natasha had left open for the moment.

Bruce wasn't sure what he'd been expecting given the voice on the radio, but the man in the doorway probably wasn't it. Hawkeye was not what Bruce would perhaps think of as a classically handsome man, but he was definitely built. Around the same height as Bruce was, several inches taller than Natasha as she touched his shoulder, smiled and slipped past him out into the cold, damp evening. He was broad shouldered, tapering to a slimmer waist. He filled out the jacket well, the leather stretched taut across his biceps. In one hand he carried a motorcycle helmet, which Bruce presumed he hadn't been wearing much while he'd been out on reconnaissance as his dirty blond hair was plastered to his head and his face was still damp, but Bruce couldn't pick up any note of sweat from him. The other hand held a much more... unusual accessory.

Hawkeye tossed the helmet onto a chair carelessly, and set his bow against the wall with a much greater sense of delicacy.

"A bow?" Bruce asked, in spite of himself. He should have kept quiet. He should have just accepted that his world was getting weirder and moving solidly into B-movie territory.

Hawkeye gave him a little smirk. "Did she hit you in the head?"

"Does she make a habit of that?"

"What is this, twenty questions?" Hawkeye unzipped the jacket part of his outfit and shrugged it off to reveal just a muscle vest in black too. So Natasha had a ninja partner too. He was definitely built, Bruce had been right about that, and losing the jacket had not taken anything away from that opinion. He was not ugly, not by far, even with a couple of ghosts of scars marring his skin here and there, one just visible on his very square jawline. He was more… an everyman. Physique aside. He was the kind of person you wouldn’t question or look at more than once. He was… normal. "Are we supposed to keep asking questions until one of us gives up?"

Bruce pushed his glasses up into his hair and rubbed his eyes. "No... sorry. I should shut up now." It wasn't his place to ask questions, really. They had things to tell him and that was it. Then he could get out of there if he didn't like what they had to say. After cocoa and maybe some more sleep.

"Hey, it's okay, doc," Hawkeye came over, tugging off a glove and leaning down just enough to offer his hand to Bruce to shake. "Clint Barton."

Taking the hand, Bruce noted the callouses on Clint's fingers from, he guessed, drawing the bow. So he really did use that thing. He shook it firmly, admiring the strength to the fingers and damn, with the right motivation, Barton would be able to break anyone's hand with just a handshake. "Are you from cheesy acronyms r us too?"

"Yeah," Clint nodded, just once, and tugged the other glove off, too, tucking them both in his back pocket. "And yes, it's a bow. My arrows are just outside, draining off, damn weather. It's quick, it's as close to silent as you get and I never miss."

Bruce held up his hands in surrender. "Sorry, I'm not exactly one hundred percent over here; my mouth is running away with me sometimes."

"No problem," Clint shrugged it off as easy as that and moved to the doorway when Natasha returned, taking the firewood she'd managed to procure from somewhere from her with ease. "We're risking a fire?"

"They won't see from the road, it's too wet and too grey. They can't get a good visual from satellites until the cloud cover clears and we know they won't have access to the heat imaging for another 72 hours. We're cold and wet and it will do us good to dry off," Natasha nudged Clint gently towards the fireplace. "You start it, while I get us some more wood."

"I could help," Bruce offered, feeling a little like a spare component to the entire saga playing out before him for the moment.

"You rest, Doctor," Natasha shook her head. "And get your pants off."

With that, she turned on her heel and disappeared into the darkness again, heading through the open doorway to the front door of the building and then disappeared to parts unknown. Bruce felt a little ill at ease as he unfastened his pants and rolled them down as best he could before covering himself with the blanket. He'd at least gotten rid of the wet waterproof jacket before his little nap, but he shivered as the cool air hit his damp skin and tucked the blanket around his legs a little tighter.

Clint was too focused on the task at hand to notice him, building the fire from the logs and smaller scraps of wood, interspersed with paper. By the time Natasha had shown up with a basket full of the wood, a little damp and visibly shivering, Clint had the fire going well. "Got enough to last us through the night," she said, setting them down beside the fireplace and dusting her hands off on her pant legs. "Coffee, food, and if the Doctor is up for it, we can talk then."

Clint gave a brief nod and glanced over toward Bruce. It was quite disconcerting, how they decided things about him without his input, or how they seemed to presume he'd go along with everything despite the fact that he'd known them for a remarkably short amount of time. And yet, he was sitting on a bare mattress, without his pants, in the middle of a farmhouse in the middle of nowhere.

He really had to work on being more assertive, but not gamma green levels of assertive.

He had to get more pants, too.

The two of them moved around each other with practised ease. Natasha had referred to Clint as her partner, and now they were interacting, he could see just how true that was and how deep it went. Clint took care of fetching water; Natasha took over as soon as it was over the fire, making one cup of coffee and one cocoa. Clint checked through ration packs as she did that, grumbling absently about going out for takeout next time they did this.

Well, if they thought there was enough chance of a next time, Bruce was willing to accept the idea. He just wasn't going to let himself hope for anything. Not after the little incident on the road.

Natasha bought the mug of cocoa over to Bruce and knelt beside him, guiding Bruce's hands around the mug. For a moment, her warm fingers clasped over his own and he got that little wave of vanilla and darker scents again, every little bit of that perfume filling his world with glorious sweetness. She held onto his hands for a moment longer, smiling at him again sweetly and making sure he was okay to hold it. Bruce found himself nodding dumbly because he was fine and, as she retreated - along with his pants and his jacket in the name of drying them at last - he huddled around the mug as much as he could and closed his eyes.

Cocoa. A touch of vanilla and warmth on a rainy day. Oh yes. The last time he'd had cocoa like this, he'd been a kid. Seven, maybe eight, and it had been another one of those days, another day where his father had been vicious and violent and his mother had wanted to make it better while he'd gone out in search of another drink.

Bruce snapped his eyes back open and shook his head to dismiss the mental images that his confused senses had wrought upon him, taking a shuddering breath to steady himself. He did not want to go back there. The present was awful enough, but the past was darker and always much worse.

"You okay, Doc?" Clint asked, taking a sip from the mug of coffee before passing it to Natasha for her to take one too. "You don't look so hot."

"It's nothing... just... bad memories. Guess I really must need that rest," Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment, rubbing it to try to sooth away the knot of tension he could feel forming there.

"We have a lot of those," Natasha offered sympathetically. "Unfortunately, we're going to help you make another one - we only have field rations at the moment, so dinner isn't exactly going to be five star."

"Can you get minus five stars? If so, we need to give it to the SHIELD kitchens that came up with this crap. Maybe labs. This stuff has to be an experiment."

He found himself chuckling at their comments as Clint ran through the options on the small foil wrapped packets he had in his hand. The meals sounded appetising, but after a few years of military cooking, Bruce was giving a lot more credence to several conspiracy theories regarding what had happened to left over nuclear and biological waste. He hadn't eaten since very early that morning, however, and all he had in his backpack were a few candy bars. "Just give me anything, I'll hold my nose and hope for the best."

Flipping through the packages again, Clint selected one and bought it to Bruce, sitting beside him on the mattress. Bruce was a little hesitant, not sure why the guy wanted to be so close but he wasn't going to question it. At least not until he had some pants again. Clint held out one package for him, and Bruce found himself going back to watching the bowman's hands - he had a couple of silvered scars across his fingers here and there, perhaps from the string hitting him, and he couldn't help watching them. "You know how to use these?"

"Never tried one before," Bruce shook his head a little.

Clint took the package back and demonstrated how to use the chemical heater in the bag so it wasn't long before Bruce was eating something purporting to be spaghetti with meat sauce. It wasn't the worst thing he'd eaten in his life, nor was it even the worst thing he'd eaten in the months he'd been on the run, but it was at best soggy cardboard that had been introduced to a condiment at some point. Clint stayed close to him as he ate too, offering him a taste of his own choice in meals to prove that it was just as unappetising. "Tomorrow, if everything is okay, we'll get pizza, I promise."

"If everything is okay, I'd like that."

At least the crackers and peanut butter in the pack were a little more appetising, and he dug out a couple of the Hershey bars he’d stashed, offering one to Clint and Natasha. He didn't have a whole lot to share but that didn't mean he couldn't share what he had. Clint glanced at Natasha, some silent question being asked in a manner that he wasn't ever going to be privy to, and then he took one of the bars and split it three ways, while Natasha refilled their drinks. He held out a piece to Bruce first, and grinned. "Very generous, doc. And it'll take the taste away, good idea."

"I thought so," Bruce nodded and took the square of chocolate, eating it slowly and savouring the taste, especially when he had his second cup of cocoa. The room was just warm enough and quiet enough that Bruce could almost feel himself drifting off, but he wanted to talk. He wanted to know what Natasha had meant in the car. If they weren’t going to come out and say something about it, it was up to him to just ask. "So... what did you mean when you said you weren't exactly on the clock?"

Natasha settled in on the mattress beside them as well, leaning against Clint enough to share their single mug of coffee between them. Bruce felt a little guilty that he was causing them to have to do that, but they would be more likely to have much bigger and greener problems if he risked the stimulant. "We did have a mission out here from our team lead. We were supposed to kill you."

"We watched you for a couple of days and we decided that was a stupid mission," Clint added quickly, before Bruce could even move. Before he could even fully process that statement. For the tiniest moment he'd almost panicked, and his heart still beat a little quicker than was probably advisable for his condition when he looked between the two of them.

"Oh. Okay," Bruce wasn't sure what else there was to say aside from the obvious. "Thank you for not trying to kill me. It probably wouldn't have gone well for you."

"We figured," Clint nodded, taking a sip from the tin mug and passing it back to his partner. "We're not sure where the directive came from, but we're pretty sure it's a little higher than our boss and handler, so we just have to get you out of here without incident and then talk to them to get that order pulled."

"Is it likely that other people have been given this order?" Bruce asked, cupping the mug in both hands and staring down into it. He wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer; he didn't want to think about things like that. However, he had to. He knew how much people feared and hated the monster that he became, he was just lucky that his part in the entire thing had been kept pretty quiet. If that lasted - he was sure as soon as Ross was running out of options that would be his next port of call, to have Bruce Banner’s name plastered all over the press and all over the television as America’s most wanted time bomb.

"No, not from SHIELD," Natasha shook her head and reached out to set her hand over one of his. A gentle little reassurance, like when she'd touched him in the car. "We'd be the only ones they sent after you."

"You sound pretty sure."

"If they send both of us, that's pretty much the end of the argument, doc," Clint shrugged briefly and inclined his head towards the guns that had been laid out ready for the worst case scenario beneath the windows. "You're only the second kill I haven't made in the... eight or nine years I've been with SHIELD."

Bruce wasn't sure how to react to that. He was reasonably sure that it was possible for him to be killed; he just wasn't sure that it would be so simple as a bullet or an arrow. He'd been injured by Ross' goons before, and it had just resulted in a big mess, a lot of violence and himself holed up somewhere whimpering in the aftermath of a Hulk incident. Maybe a direct shot to the head would do it, something too quick to allow a reaction. "Do I get to know who the first one is, or is that top secret?"

"Me," Natasha gave him that wicked smile again. "I was the other one."

“You know, this is a hell of a way to recruit new agents,” Bruce commented dryly. So someone else wanted him dead - Ross wouldn't want another agency in on his entertainment so that had to come from elsewhere. But who knew about him? Who knew what he was outside of Ross' company? He must have had someone on the inside feeding information to external forces and that was even more worrying than everything else. "So... what do we do now?"

"Now... we rest until morning. Then Clint will scout the road again and see if the roadblock is gone - we'll keep a watch and take shifts in the meantime and listen to their radio chatter," Natasha swept her hair back and gestured to the ear piece which she still had hooked over her ear. So far they're just very confused that you haven't turned up. They're still holding position though, so we're safe for now."

"I'll take first watch," Clint patted Natasha's knee and stretched with a satisfied groan. "I'm hoping they'll just move in on the town and we can slip past them."

"That means you should get some rest, Doctor, We don't know when we're going to move, but it'll be at pretty short notice, and we don't know for sure when we can risk stopping again."

Bruce looked between them, Natasha with her vibrantly green eyes and red hair, Clint with his golden skin and dirty blond hair and eyes that couldn't seem to decide whether they were blue, green or grey and shifted between those colors depending on the light. He felt out of place. Lost, and not for the first time, in a world which felt a lot bigger than he'd once thought possible. Yes. Sleep sounded good. He wanted to rest, and perhaps he'd wake up and find out the whole thing was some delirium addled dream, something his fevered mind had come up with as his body tried to recover from another incident. He wasn't sure he wanted that though. Even though they were strangers, for the first time in months, Bruce felt like he wasn't alone any more. He felt like there was at least someone who didn't hate him. Two someones in fact.

"Okay. Yeah, I'll rest." Bruce nodded, watching as Clint stood up and started to clear away their trash without being asked to. He shuffled down on the mattress, careful not to let the blanket slip. "Can I ask why you didn't try? Or rather, decided not to try? You said you watched me."

Clint looked up at the question, a little surprised. He considered it as he settled in by the window to watch the horizon - oddly without field glasses or binoculars, Bruce noted - and shrugged a little. "You're not a bad guy, Doc. You're just... You could have killed those two assholes a couple of days ago and probably razed that town to the ground but you took yourself out of the situation even though you risked getting caught for it."

He remembered the incident that Clint was referring to, the two thugs that had tried to rob him in a little town a few stops back on the bus. He'd managed to get away from them and put a couple of local deputies between himself and them before he'd dragged himself into an alleyway and hidden to let the green fade from his skin and the darkness fade from his vision. The deputies had given him a long hard look before he'd managed to dodge them but they'd been more interested in the local wildlife than Bruce fortunately. "Oh. Right."

"You're scared," Natasha said softly, stretching out beside him. "You're not angry, you're not planning and plotting, you're just running and trying to save yourself. We were told you were a terrorist, you were planning on destroying key military installations on top of the one you already had."

Bruce rubbed a hand over his face and gave a short, humourless laugh. "Right. Great, that'll be an awesome headline on the news when Ross can't find me," he sighed and looked over at Natasha. She was staying on the mattress with him? Well, it made sense, it was the softest thing in the room to sleep on and it was convenient and had plenty of room. Why shouldn't she settle in next to him and get some rest? If she was going to be taking a watch too, she needed to sleep. "It was an accident. I know it sounds pathetic, but I really didn't mean to."

"You can tell us about that some other time," Natasha said. She retained the same soothing tone, the same one she'd used in the car when he'd been exhausted. Then she curled next to him, pressing against his side. "Still a little cold in here, hope you don't mind sharing body warmth."

How was he supposed to respond to that? Oh no, please beautiful woman, please don't cuddle up against me? "I... have nightmares. I don't want to lash out, hurt you," he offered weakly, even as he was slipping an arm around her shoulders.

"I'm not as weak as you think I look, you know," she flashed him another quick smile and pillowed her head on his chest. "And I know you're not sneaking off if I stay right here, Doctor."

"Well... maybe you should stick with calling me Bruce."

"That might be better if I'm going to be sleeping with you," Natasha closed her eyes and gave a little sigh of contentment. Bruce held her, just a little awkwardly, but he had to admit she was right. She was warm and comforting and he liked her there. That relaxing scent of her perfume, and rain, and the wood smoke, and the last motes of dust washed over him slowly. He just let it overwhelm him along with the crackle of the logs on the fire and the patter of raindrops against the windows.

He was asleep before he even knew it.


	3. This morning's scene is good and fine, Long rain has not harmed the land. - Du Fu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce wakes early to find someone in bed with him, and they help him feel a little calmer.
> 
> With many thanks again to Lana-panda for betaing.

This time, when he woke, he did so slowly. He could still smell the wood smoke and dust, but the vanilla had faded. It was still nearby, but not close enough to fill his senses the way that it had been when he'd fallen asleep.

Bruce lifted a hand to his face to grope for his glasses, but they were gone. One of the others must have taken them off him, which was somewhat of a relief but he still worried absently, wondering where they'd been set this time and whether he would be able to find them again. It didn't seem to matter all that much for the moment because he was still warm and comfortable, particularly thanks to the press of the warm body against his side.

Bruce lifted his head, confused. If the scent that had helped lull him to sleep was more distant now, why was he still warm?

It was fully dark inside the room now, but the light of the fire picked up the dirty gold of Clint Barton's hair where it fell choppily against his fair skin and against Bruce’s dark shirt from where it was pillowed on his chest, and caught the outlines of his cheekbones and jawline as well. That blanket that had protected his modesty had also been shared somewhere in his sleep and Bruce wasn't sure if he'd done that, or someone else, or whether he should be worried about the entire thing. Or even if he should be more worried that he was now sharing it with a man. Or if he should wonder if Natasha had been the one to coax him into sharing that blanket.

Perhaps it would be best if he forgot the whole thing.

Bruce let his head drop back on the mattress and closed his eyes again. He still had an arm around Clint and again, he wasn't sure when that had happened or if he should let go, but it was the warmest he'd been in weeks. At least the good kind of warm. The kind of warm that didn't result from his other self being around. He could still feel and hear the monster in the back of his mind shifting and growling - just aggravated at the warmth and the presence of the two strangers, but it seemed a little further off now, at least far enough that he didn't think he'd have to leave under cover of darkness for their safety. If he even could.

"You've gone tense, Bruce," Clint murmured, his voice thick with sleep.

He hadn't even realised that Clint was awake, much to his shame. Bruce tried to ignore the fresh wave of guilt over disturbing Clint's sleep when they were only trying to help him. "Sorry, not used to waking up in bed with a guy."

"Same as waking up with a woman, just with different attachments," Clint shrugged a little, and settled again slowly. "Just genetics, right?"

Bruce made a small noise of agreement. Just genetics, yes. Just a Y chromosome swapped out with an X. Just a minute difference that made a world of difference when multiplied out across an entire organism.

Well... not a world of difference, Bruce supposed. There would still be the same physical organs, the same essential skeletal structure, just a few little things here and there. It took a refined and practised eye to determine the difference between a man and a woman when it was taken back to bare bones. So did it matter that he'd woken up in bed with a man in the grand scheme of things?

No. It really didn't matter. So Bruce kept still, resting his hand on Clint's shoulder, as he apparently had for as long as Clint had been in the bed with him. He kept his eyes closed and just noted the little differences. He was muscular, but then Natasha had been too. She looked delicate and petite in her oh so carefully chosen dress, but when he'd put his arm around her as she'd settled in with him to sleep, he'd realised just how much of a lie that was. He'd felt solid muscles flex under his arm, and it was only now that he had something to compare it to that he was able to appreciate it. Neither of them were like Betty.

There was something different about the way that Clint smelled, too. He didn't quite want to think that the difference was solely because Clint was male, no; it couldn't be as simple as that surely. Clint’s cologne had faded, but Bruce could still pick up notes of it, as well as the leather of his motorbike gear and the little things like beeswax, and almost a hint of pine or something similar. He smelled like the outdoors, like fresh air. Under it all was something much more... animal. Much more base and masculine. And if he were honest with himself, Bruce kind of liked the way it smelled.

He listened to the crackle of the logs on the fire, and the occasional slight shift of Natasha in her little window seat, trying to keep her stiff limbs from falling asleep. He could detect more smells now that he was more awake. Gunpowder and gun oil, at the very least. A slight musty dampness from the logs as they burned, and still that ever present wood smoke. Bruce shivered and Clint curled even tighter against him, stretching an arm around his waist.

This was definitely something different.

Bruce opened his eyes, watching the way the firelight cast dancing patterns on the dirty ceiling, and the glitter of red and gold on Clint's hair. He wanted to ask what time it was, to figure out whether he would be justified in being awake but he didn't want to move. Not even if it was to grab his pants which - a glance towards the fireplace confirmed - were now folded up on one of the old wooden chairs along with his waterproof coat, apparently dry. He wasn't sure if or when he'd be this comfortable or warm again. They would get him out - if they even could - and then he'd be alone and cold again.

Well. Not quite alone. No matter how much he tried to pretend otherwise, there would always be the demons and monsters in his nightmares to keep him company, not to mention the one that lived in the back of his head, waiting for an opportunity to show his very angry face to the world.

He didn't count the minutes that passed; he just silently watched the flames consume the wood bit by bit. His eyes stung a little if he watched too long, so he closed his eyes occasionally to try to rest more, but no more sleep was forthcoming. He could feel the soft, even rhythm of Clint's breathing and it was enough to keep him there and still at least. Enough to keep him grounded.

Eventually, Clint shifted a little and opened his eyes, tipping his head just enough to glance up at Bruce.

He couldn't help a blush. He wasn't even sure why he was blushing... aside from the whole no pants, sharing blanket, sharing bed and both guys thing. Was that enough to be worried about blushing over? Bruce wasn't even sure any more, but Clint's arm was certainly not moving and oddly enough, neither was Bruce's. He bit his lip, lifted his free hand to rub the bridge of his nose and wished he had his glasses, so that he’d be able to better judge the expression on Clint's face. "You sleep okay?" he asked softly.

"Mm. You're pretty warm, doc," Clint gave him a half smile and returned his head to the position it had been in when he'd been asleep. Well. Bruce wasn't going anywhere yet apparently.

"Sorry, I can't help it," Bruce apologized. He felt like he'd been doing a lot of that lately, apologizing for this and that and the other. "It's... a side effect. From my condition."

"Running hot, literally," Clint nodded a little and that had the inadvertent side effect of making him nuzzle against Bruce's shirt which in turn almost made Bruce slide his fingers into Clint’s hair or whimper a little. Little intimacies, human contact – he hadn't realized how much he’d missed them until presented with them before he could argue.. "Not that that's a bad thing, it's been pretty useful tonight."

Bruce wanted to correct Clint - he was not useful. He was a monster and a potential weapon and a nightmare; he was not useful in the least. His real use had ended in a gamma bomb and a massive mutation, especially since he'd left his labs and his science and all of his real talent behind. "How did you get there, anyway?"

"Get where?" Clint peeked up at him again. Bruce couldn't see from the angle he was at, but he was pretty sure Clint was grinning at him. "Under your arm? Under your blanket? or just in bed with you?"

"All of the above," Bruce replied, eyeing the position of his hand on Clint's shoulder, drumming his fingers just a couple of times. He really should let go. He should move his arm and let Clint up - for all he knew, that was the only reason Clint was even staying in position. Waiting for an excuse to get away from him. Bruce flexed his fingers lightly on Clint's shoulder and shifted his arm away to grope blindly for his glasses on the off chance that they were on that side of the bed, and to give Clint an excuse to get up and move without it being awkward. Without it being a little painful. Really he should have been used to people rejecting him, fearing him, hunting and hating him, but still, after his childhood and after the inroads that Betty had made into his heart, it hurt.

To his surprise, Clint just turned his head a little to watch Bruce's hand on the mattress before settling down again. "Your glasses? On your right, doc, by the mug from last night."

Bruce returned the hand to Clint's shoulder, since he hadn't moved, and carefully felt out the glasses from the dusty floorboards. He slipped them on with practised ease and looked down at Clint. "So.., how did you get there?"

"Really fast swap. Tasha was out and I was in in less than thirty seconds, you barely even stirred. Must have been really out of it," Clint's eyes flickered closed. He really did have the most ridiculously long eyelashes. "Is it a problem?"

"No! er... No," Bruce waved a hand as though Clint would even be able to see that. It wasn't a problem. Bruce regularly questioned his sexuality before dawn with a couple of James Bond escapees in a farmhouse that had seen better days. Wasn't it all the rage to do so? He didn't rationalize away the idea that before Betty he'd had all the sexuality of a brick, or that he didn't know whether he was attracted to anyone at all aside from her, no. It was much easier to ignore those things. Especially if it meant he might have to examine whether he was attracted to Clint, it was probably only natural that he was attracted Natasha after all. Maybe. "Sorry. It's... new. Kinda weird."

"Never been in bed with a guy before? Guess that's why your heart is racing a little."

Now Clint mentioned it, his pulse was higher than it should have been for safety reasons. He really should get out of bed now before something happened that they would all regret. "Maybe I should get up?"

"Something wrong about being in bed with me?"

"No," Bruce protested again, shaking his head and waving his hand this time, enough that Clint looked up at him. "It’s just... my heart. When my heart beat gets too fast... sometimes I change."

Clint's brow furrowed in thought. He lifted the hand that was settled comfortably on Bruce's stomach to catch his hand mid wave. "Let me see if I can help with that, okay?" For a moment, all manner of things ran through Bruce's mind. Just what was he going to do to supposedly improve this situation? To his surprise, Clint just interlaced their fingers and shifted up the bed a little until they were almost eye to eye. "Just breathe with me, doc," he smiled, his blue green grey eyes locked on Bruce’s. "In, and out," he took a deep, slow breath, then another. And another.

Bruce found himself breathing in time with Clint, holding that breath for a moment and then letting it out slowly. For a moment he wasn't sure if it was just making it worse, but slowly he did begin to calm down, inch by inch, little by little. As the mild panic slowed and his heart rate eased back just enough that Bruce wasn't feeling quite so worried, Clint shifted slowly until he was leaning over Bruce just a little, leaning up on one elbow.

"You just need to learn how to control it," he murmured softly, trailing his hand along Bruce's arm lightly but still keeping up that slow, comforting and soothing rate of breathing. Bruce couldn't help a mild spike of... well not panic or fear. He wasn't afraid of Clint per se; he wasn't afraid of what Clint would do or what might happen. Bruce was more afraid of himself and his own reactions than anything else. Clint's touch felt electric, even through his shirt, much to Bruce's surprise. "You're on edge. You've been running for... what, six months?"

"About that much, yeah," Bruce nodded. His throat felt dry and scratchy, suddenly. Was Clint coming on to him? Was that a problem generally, aside from the whole monster reaction any time his heart rate peaked thing? Not that that was a minor concern by any means.

"Been about that long since someone touched you, too?" Clint's eyes seemed to struggle to hold focus on him when they were close and he wasn't able to keep his gaze perfectly still, his eyes darting here and there, noting little details - or so Bruce assumed - about him.

"Maybe a little longer," Bruce shrugged. "Are your eyes bothering you?"

For the first time all night, Clint actually looked surprised. He didn't jerk back but he did pull back a couple of inches. "Hey, we're talking about you doc, not me right now," he commented. There was no anger or sarcasm to his tone, no regret or... anything but amusement really.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to... spoil the moment?" Bruce joked, feeling a little pathetic.

Clint seemed to appreciate that at least and even chuckled a little, shaking his head. "It's fine, don't worry about it. My eyesight or spoiling the moment."

"If you're not going to sleep or seduce him, Clint, make some coffee," Natasha stretched in the window seat cum nest that she'd made and shifted from one hip to the other. She had a pair of night vision binoculars lifted to her eyes. "It's four a.m. anyway; we should be up and ready to move soon."

Oddly, Bruce just found himself glad to hear her using the AM terminology rather than military notation. It was the little things with them that made it easier to be around Clint and Natasha, now that he'd slept. The terminology. The closeness. The way they weren't scared to touch him. It didn't make him feel as sick inside as he had when he'd been alone. Clint rolled over enough to actually pout at Natasha. "So does that mean I have permission to seduce him instead?"

"Well, depends if I can watch," she glanced over her shoulder and gave them both a wicked smile.

Somehow from Clint's grin but otherwise lack of reaction, Bruce was reasonably sure that wasn't the first time she'd suggested something like that. Maybe it was something in the way the two of them reacted to each other, how easy and content they seemed to be, how well they knew each other. Either way, Clint nudged Bruce's chin gently with his fist in a 'chin up' sort of move, and rolled to his feet in one easy movement. "Any news?"

"They're probably going to move in at five, keep the town surrounded. They think that Bruce is hiding somewhere in one of the outbuildings," Natasha rubbed her back absently. "So make the coffee and let Bruce get dressed - we should put the fire out after that. The cloud cover's starting to thin a little."

Clint didn't argue at all. He headed straight for the fire and his set task, only pausing to grab Bruce's mug and toss him his dry clothes. Bruce wasted no time in peeling the blanket off and tugging on the pants at least, finding it hard to care too much about modesty. He sat up stiffly when they were fastened and rubbed his back. He was getting too old to be running, he swore to himself absently. Or the cold had gotten into his bones and stiffened his joints in the night, despite the best efforts of the ninja crew.

He could still smell her perfume and his aftershave - even as faded as it had been - on his clothes. He liked that too. The way that they seemed to linger on him and make him feel that they were with him. When they had to part ways later, maybe he'd feel a little less alone, at least until it wore off.

Bruce sat back down on the mattress, glancing through his bag at the few meagre possessions he had remaining. Spare shirt, maybe thirty bucks in ones and change, some more chocolate bars, a few maps and one battered paperback someone had given him on the bus. An old thriller story, and to be honest he'd read it twice already just because his only other option on the bus was sitting and thinking and staring out of the window, and he'd spent more than enough time in his own head.

Clint returned Bruce’s mug, now full of cocoa, without a word. Then he put the fire out and brought the second mug to Natasha in her watch position and shared it with her silently for a few minutes. Clint’s gaze was directed through the window at the dark landscapes stretching out before them. At least the rain had slowed to a light drizzle now, and as Natasha had said, the clouds were beginning to thin a little, allowing little glimpses of stars glittering in the darkness here and there.

As soon as the fire was out, it felt as though the cold caught hold of the room they were hidden in again, bleeding away the warmth and making Bruce shiver. He rubbed his arms, pulled the waterproof jacket on again and tucked his glasses back into the hidden pocket in his bag, ready whenever they had to leave.

He didn't have long to wait.

Natasha beckoned him over after a while, offering him the night vision binoculars and pointing out of the window. "Can you watch the road while we pack up? Shouldn't be long, Bruce, but they're going to be going past at any minute, and we should be ready to move."

Bruce took them with a nod and settled in front of the window. It seemed the very least he could do really, given the help they'd given him. Of course, a quiet little voice whispered in the back of his head, this could all be another trick. Something else orchestrated to herd you into a waiting cage. He ignored the thought and scowled to himself at the very idea of it.

As he sat there, the two of them packed up quickly. First one set of guns, then their other supplies and tools, and finally the last set of guns. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see as Natasha pulled a couple of holsters on - one hip, one shoulder - then a jacket and she slipped two of the handguns into them before smoothing the jacket down.

Then movement down on the main road caught his eye. "I see something," he said, almost a whisper. As though somehow those people down on the road, passing by in their armoured trucks and tanks would be able to hear him somehow.

Clint came to his side again, peering out into the darkness. "...yeah, it's them. Doesn't look like they're coming this way, yet."

Bruce looked up at him in surprise. "You can see that?"

"Told you he was our eyes," Natasha commented dryly, picking up one of the bags of weapons and a kit holdall with remarkable ease given the size of both bags and her slim frame, but Bruce remembered the strength in her muscles that he'd felt the previous night; he had no room to comment on or possibly even consider just how much she should or shouldn't be able to lift.

"I have really good eyesight," Clint shrugged and held his hand out for the night vision goggles. "You okay to give Tasha a hand loading up the car?"

Bruce found himself nodding dumbly, setting the goggles into Clint's open hand and going to grab one of the bags she'd left behind. He hadn't been wrong; it was a remarkably heavy thing. Maybe heavy enough that a few months before, he wouldn't have even been able to lift it. However, he'd spent time doing odd things for money here and there, carrying, lifting, manual tasks that had at least been enough to have him look like less of a wimp compared to the two of them. Still the bag Bruce had to carry two handed and struggle with, Natasha picked up with one hand and transferred into the trunk with ease.

"That the last of them?" she asked, glancing back at the house.

"Just my bag."

"Grab it," she inclined her head toward the house in gesture. "We'll move as soon as Hawkeye says we should move."

She was already back to using call signs, which Bruce hoped was a good sign. He wasn't sure how it could be but he could hope at least. He slipped back into the house as ordered and picked his bag up. He paused for a moment, watching Clint in the window. He had moved - just enough to grab the rest of his leathers, strap a long matt black cylinder to his back with the arrow flights peering out of the top to identify it as his quiver, and he had his helmet on again. "Hey doc," he said, glancing over. "If we bump into these guys at any point, just promise me you'll run like hell, okay?"

Bruce looked up at him, surprised. He wasn't sure what to say. Should he protest, should he say no? "I've been doing that for months, Clint."

Clint's eyes crinkled just a little, and Bruce was pretty sure he was smiling underneath that helmet. "I know. But don't be a hero if they corner us at any point. We can get out of this, and I'd like to make sure you can too."

Fiddling with the strap of the backpack nervously, Bruce nodded just once. "I'll run. If it comes to that."

"Thanks," Clint nodded and turned his attention back to the window. "Go on. We'll give it five then I'll head down to the road. Let Tasha know."

Bruce nodded again and left Clint to it. He passed the message on as soon as he made it outside, and she gestured for him to get into the car, slipping into the driving seat herself. She already had her earpiece in, and she offered the spare one to him again as soon as he was settled. "Make it easier to keep in contact," she smiled. "But if we need to lose you, drop it, okay?"

"There's a way they can track it?" Bruce asked, taking it and slipping it over his ear. His hair was long enough and just wild enough that he was pretty sure no one would notice if he were wearing it around outside and in normal locations, so it had to be traceable for her to want him to get rid of it.

"No, I just don't want you to hear what happens if anything goes wrong."

He found himself staring at her. Natasha's tone was so nonchalant and easy that he didn't want to further question it, so used to consequences and - he assumed at least - worse things than he wanted to consider. He didn't know whether Ross was crazy enough to try to force confessions or torture people in order to find out his location. He hoped not. Betty didn't deserve that for her father. Bruce took a steadying breath and nodded again. "Okay."

"Your own safety," Natasha patted his shoulder lightly, glancing up as Clint strolled past them and made it to the motorbike. He slung a leg over it, and coaxed the bike to the dirt road carefully and then along it to the main road.

Bruce didn't realize that he was holding his breath until Clint said "All clear. C'mon down."

Natasha started the engine and followed him to the main road, barely glancing in the direction of the town before she pulled onto the road and followed after Clint. "We were lucky," she said softly. "Let's put as much distance between us and them as we can today."

Twisting in his seat, Bruce looked back in the direction that they'd come from the day before. There was no sign of the vehicles now; they’d moved on too far for him to see, towards the specks of the town on the horizon. As long as no one else got hurt because of him, he'd be okay with that. He'd be... able to deal. Not okay, just able to deal. "And then you're dropping me off somewhere, right?"

"Right. If you want us to drop you off," she smiled again and kept her eyes on the road.

"Well... I didn't think there was another option. You two have to go back to work, right?" suddenly that edge of worry that had been plaguing him seemed so much louder and so much sharper. He felt his mouth go dry and his heart start to beat faster.

"Yeah, we do, Doc," Clint offered over the radio. The roar of the motorbike's engine again threatened to drown out his voice. "Maybe if you stick with us a little longer we could see about proving you're not a monster, though."

"I am a monster," Bruce shook his head and rubbed his temples. "It's safer if you're away from me, and it's safer if everyone else is away from me."

"Shhh," Natasha took hold of one of his hands and coaxed it away from his head gently, tangling her fingers with his. "It’s okay, Doc. We're not going to make you stay with us or make you do anything that you don't want to. We're just going to get you to some place safe and get you that pizza that Hawkeye promised you, right?"

"With a little luck we could put at least five hundred or so miles between you and that asshole, make sure that you won't get troubled by him again for months," Clint offered brightly. "That'd be a good thing, right?"

Bruce nodded dumbly for a moment, before remembering that Clint couldn't see him and was on the radio again. "Right, yeah. It would," he agreed. At least if he had some time away from Ross, some time to breathe and think and get a handle on his issues, he might be able to get some measure of control over the monster he became.

Might. Maybe. With a little luck. Everything was left to chance and uncertainty and Bruce didn't know how much longer he could keep it up.


End file.
